“That girl! Black hair. Magnificent eyes! She was our waitress.”

“Oh—”

“You know the one I mean. Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen her before. She comes into the feed store a lot.”

“Oh, she does, huh? So you do know her then?”

“Only from the feed store.”

“She seemed to like you very much. Did you notice that?”

“No, not really,” the boy says, and tucks his chin toward his chest as he works the long, spade-shaped middle toe.

“It’s important to notice things like that. Don’t let that type a thing slip through the cracks. Something like that could change your whole entire life. A moment like that.”

“A moment like what?”

“Seeing that she liked you! The way she kept coming around to our table to pour us more water even when the glasses were full. She couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t notice that she kept coming around?”

“She was our waitress. She’s supposed to come around.”

“Not when the glasses are full! She didn’t need to keep coming around like that.”

“Well I didn’t notice,” the boy says with a note of finality, hoping to turn the subject. There is a sweet pause where the dove can be heard rustling in the dust of the road and the irrigation sweeps the cut pasture next door.

“Do you know her name?” the grandfather asks softly.

“No— It’s Mexican or something— Something like ‘Mina.’ ”

“Mina?”

“Something like that. She comes into the store all the time to get stuff for her goats.”

“She keeps goats? A girl like that?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” the boy says, and doesn’t understand this feeling that surges up in him of wanting to defend the girl.

“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with that. I like a girl who can tend to livestock.”

“I sweep up the oat dust and leftover alfalfa from the square bales and give it to her in empty feed sacks out back. Doesn’t cost her a thing.”

“Oh, so you do her favors then?”

“Well, just once in a while.”

“She’s very lovely, that one. Never seen eyes quite like that. Beyond her age, I’d say.”

“I don’t know how old she is.”

“Difficult to say on a girl like that. Closer to being a woman.”

“I don’t know,” the boy mumbles.

“Why would she keep goats? She’s a waitress, isn’t she?”

“She’s probably got more than one job.”

“Well, why would she keep goats?”

“I don’t know. Maybe her parents. She’s from a big family I think. She never says anything when she comes in. Just stands there and stares at me while I’m sweeping.”

“She likes you.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, of course she does. What do you think she’s staring at? The broom?”